Into the Light (The Light #1)(14)

What I wanted was for that horrible dark bruise, those shades of purple and green, to go away. Seeing it when I’d lifted her nightgown had been like experiencing the kick all over again. The reverberations had sent shock waves through both of us. Maybe I didn’t want to see her eyes. The pain she felt, when the bed reclined or when I lifted her, seeped from her pores and filled the room with its stench.

Doesn’t Dr. Newton realize what he’s doing?

I glanced up, but he wasn’t looking at me.

He was looking at her.

My teeth rattled as I clamped them tight and assessed his expression. He was the community’s sole physician, and I expected to see compassion and the desire to heal in his face. Instead images of Dr. Mengele popped into my thoughts.

What kind of doctor participates in the things Dr. Newton does without reservation?

I might not have signed up for this mission, but, damn it, Sara was now my wife.

Who the hell am I kidding?

I was as responsible as Dr. Newton, if not more. Not for all the other women who’d come to the community in this same way, but for Sara. When the Commission explained what needed to be done, I didn’t question. Orders were orders. I obeyed them as well as gave them. That’s how I’d advanced as fast as I had within the community—I understood rules and procedures. The Light wasn’t that different from the military. My training there served me well, and my experience in the army created the perfect history for a faithful follower.

Dr. Newton spoke, refocusing my attention. “I’m going to unbutton your gown to better see your injuries.”

Though she nodded, I reapplied the pressure to my poor teeth. I’d be lucky if they weren’t splinters of enamel by the time this was done. Dr. Newton started at the top button of her nightgown, near the neckline, and worked his way down. He’d managed to unfasten a few buttons when I let go of her hand and pushed his away. I’d seen under her gown and knew she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Her breasts may have been smaller than I preferred, but they were pleasantly round and firm. Earlier, in the bathroom, probably due to the temperature, I’d noticed how her nipples hardened and how the pink around them darkened.

It didn’t matter if they were small or large: they were mine. I also knew damn well that they hadn’t been injured during her accident, and Newton knew that too. He’d examined her before. There was no reason for him to see her breasts again. Loosening my clenched jaw, I said, “Her injuries are lower. I’ll help you.” I wanted to say more, but Sara didn’t need to listen to a pissing contest above her exposed body.

The good doctor’s hands went up willingly in surrender, but the smirk on his face once again made my jaw go rigid. The arrogant ass. There was no way in hell he would ever examine her without me present. I wouldn’t allow it. If I had to petition the Commission, I would. They wanted me to take having a wife seriously, and I was.

Taking a deep breath, I refastened the gown’s top buttons and undid the ones starting at the bottom. Sara’s exposed skin dotted with goose bumps as I laid the fabric of her nightgown aside. With the blankets down, she was now visible from her toes to past her navel. All the right parts were covered. No doubt in the dark, the world outside The Light, she’d worn less on a beach than what she wore now as panties. That didn’t matter. When she’d been in the dark she hadn’t been my wife. Now she was, and having Newton’s eyes on her pissed me off.

I held my tongue and concentrated on her cast. The damn thing went halfway up her left thigh. Since only her tibia was broken, the cast could easily have stopped below her knee. It was one more piece of the psychological warfare, part of the plan to wear her down, take away her abilities, and make her dependent. The more physical limitations she endured, the easier it was to instill psychological limitations.

The Light had a job, a calling. Its original followers had been predominantly male. Father Gabriel’s teachings originated from fundamentalist roots. Women were appreciated for the strength through which they fulfilled their duties—and because men had needs. According to Father Gabriel’s teachings, those needs were best served by wives. While some women found their way to The Light of their own volition, others—like Sara—were acquired. The acquisition and indoctrination process was in a continual state of revision. Each case was gauged by its success or failure. Though the entire community participated in the acquisition, ultimately it was the participants in each acquisition who were responsible for the outcome. In our case that would be Sara and me. Because I was her husband, my role was infinitely important. The only road to my continued success within The Light was through her.

I took Sara’s hand again in mine. We will not fail. The mantra repeated like a chant in the recesses of my mind. I’d witnessed failure, and I’d labored too long to allow that to be my end. Though Sara’s hand trembled, I refused to let emotion cloud my objective. We would succeed.

“Squeeze your husband’s hand when I touch a place that hurts.”

The * went for the epicenter, directly above the broken ribs. As he did, Sara moaned and squeezed with all her might, before clamping her lips tightly together.

“There,” I said, looking up to the doctor’s raised brows.

“You broke at least one rib in your accident,” he explained.

Her lip was back between her teeth as she nodded her understanding.